


Hot Springs

by thenakednymph



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Friendship, cliche hot springs, general backstory fic, solas and adaar do bonding things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-13 01:39:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3363017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenakednymph/pseuds/thenakednymph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas goes looking for the Inquisitor and winds up helping her wash her hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Springs

**Author's Note:**

> All right, fair warning, I had to type this all out on my phone because I wanted to post it and my computer has no internet right now. Please try to keep track of and forgive any errors. If you let me know where they are in the story I can fix them. Thank you!

"Inquisitor?" Solas wanders the dirt path through the trees towards a decrepit structure within Skyhold's walls. Or what's left of it.

There's little there now save for a few rotting planks and some piles of stone.

Moss clings to the surface of the stone, thriving in the thin veil of steam rising from the water, decorating the little corner in a coat of green.

He smiles knowing magic has nothing to do with it. Every once in awhile it's nice to come across some of nature's own magic and the sight pleases him.

The steam curls away into the air as the water bubbles over the rocks, carving a path through the mud before coiling into the little ice encrusted stream he knows. It seems to run through Skyhold no matter where one is, fiercely determined to keep moving before vanishing beneath one of the castle walls. 

"Inquisitor?" he calls again. There's no sign of the Qunari but she must be here. He hopes he's not interrupting. "Forgive me," he says, " Varric said you might be-" He rounds a corner and there she is, sitting in the steaming water, naked from the waist up, the ret if her blessedly submerged.

" _Fenedhis lasa_ ," he swears, turning his back. 

Adaar shoots up out of the water at the curse, dual blades flashing in the light, her eyes wide, stance ready for attack. 

"What, what is it?" Her body coils like a serpents and she's just as deadly, her blades coated with poison; her very own fangs and they are naked and bared, ready to strike.

Water beads and drips along the steel as her eyes flick to Solas before darting about again, searching for whatever it is that's caught him so off-guard. 

"You- I'm sorry," he stumbles, "if I'd known you were indisposed..."

Adaar's forehead wrinkles, frustration pulling at her mouth. "For crying out loud Solas, what  _is_ it?" She givers in the cold air, her skin pebbling. 

"You're naked," he hisses back, as if afraid to say it any louder.

Adaar blinks stupidly, glancing down the front of her body as if to make sure. 

"Oh." Her posture slackens and she drops down into the water again, knives still in hand. "Is that all." Her tone is dismissive as she goes back to scrubbing her arms with a soapy rag. Solas makes some kind of gagging noise, still standing with his back turned, his shoulders stiff.

"Maker," Adaar swears, "what is it with humans and nudity?" she mutters. "Excuse me," she lifts a hand in Solas' direction even though he can't see it, water sluicing down her palm and across her arm. "Elves, in your case." She shakes her head, splasging about just because the noise makes him flinch.

Adaar rolls her eyes. "Andraste's tits," she mutters and Solas knows she's been spending too much time with Varric. "I'm a woman not a darkspawn. I'm not going to rip your head off." She glares a him still standing uselessly a few feet away. "If you're just going to stand there come here and help me with my hair," she says, turning her back on him. "You're making it weird." Solas turns his head sideways, glaring at the far wall, half hidden behind trees whose branches are laden with leaves, sunlight mottling their color and casting dancing shadows across the ground. 

"You're naked," he hisses again. 

"Oh for the love of-" She shuffles around in her pile of discarded clothing, digging out her breast band and wrapping it around her chest and over her shoulders. It takes her a moment of adjusting until it doesn't pinch and then glares at Solas' tense shoulders.

"Better?" 

Solas chances a glance in her direction. "Hardly." But he does turn to face her fully.

"Good. Now come help me with my hair before the ochre stains it irrevocably."

She twists around, picking at the braid with her nails and Solas finally approaches. He sits down on a pile of rubble and Adaar scoots over until she's sitting right in front of him, his knees almost touching the back of her shoulders. He is less than pleased but he takes the tangle of braids from her without comment.

"If it is such a bother," he asks "why braid it up like this in the first place?" The tangle looks like it took several hours to complete. 

"Josephine and Leliana seem to enjoy it. Josie says it makes me look elegant or something, I don't know, I wasn't really listening. I'm sure there's some kind of deep secret political whatever involved with the way I wear my hair." She scoffs, but knowing Orlais it's entirely possible.

"Wars have started over less," Solas offers. 

Adaar lets a smile pull at the corner of her mouth. "Josie said much the same thing.

"I have no interest in the game or playing it. I haven't the mind or the patience for politicking and I certainly lack the subtlety. It all just gives me a headache. And couldn't care less what the politicians think of my hair," she says, "I just think it's pretty. And with any luck no one will decide they want to start a war over it.

"Besides, it keeps it out of my face. I've never been fond of tails, but braids aren't exactly sympatico with Qunari nails." She raises a hand and flicks nails that areore like claws in the air, clicking them together. She tilts her head to the side, pondering the far bank. "And they're pretty."

"It does always seem to come back to that," Solas teases. 

Adaar makes a face at him, sticking out her tongue before cupping the hot water in her hands and washing it over her face. She scrubs away the last of the grime and her smeared Vitaar as Solas shakes out the main braid running down the crown of her head. Several smaller ones fall loose from the tangle.

"This will take hours," he mutters, already picking at one of the smaller ones. Dried ichor from the corpses she'd been fighting matt the pale strands.

Adaar nods sagely, reaching up to pull at one of the bronze plates covering her horns. 

"Now you know why I made _you_ do it." She tugs thecovering  free, frowning when it sticks in place, rinsing it out before setting it aside. "Damn elves with their nimble little fingers," she mutters, but Solas doesn't rise to the bait. She pulls the second covering free and Solas' hands still, staring at the horn, a good finger's length missing from the tip. 

"How did that happen?" he asks, returning to the braid. 

"Hmm? Oh, this?" Adaar reaches up and catches the roughened edge of the horn with pads of her fingers, pulling at it until they slide off with a dry thwick.

"Lost it in my first fight. Tip of an axe caught it. Almost took my head off."

"I don't believe I've ever seen a Qunari with a broken horn. I didn't even know it was possible." 

"What about the Baas? Qunari mages have their horns removed. Haven't you seen one of them before?"

"Well, yes, but they have them _removed_ ," he echoed. "I don't believe I've ever seen one broken."

"Oh." Adaar soaps up the rag, little curls of the cake building up beneath her nails. She makes a noise of disgust, flicking them away, careful not to let the soap slip free and vanish in the stream. She scrubs the rag up over the broken horn, hiding it from view.

"I was very young," she offers by way of explanation. "To be honest it's not something I like to advertise." She falls silent, the cloth twisting in her hands and for a momen Solas thinks that's the end of the conversation but she continues.

"To the Qunari a missing horn is a sign of respect. It's earned and with good reason. The Baas have no horns to show their enemies they're dangerous, but to have a horn broken? That's something else entirely. It's a weakness, a sign you made a mistake, that your enemy was able to get the better of you. Surviving a battle wound doesn't make you stronger than your enemy, it just means you were wounded. Any coward can be stabbed in the back. You should die on the field or walk away, there is no in between.

"As a young woman, walking into a mercenary camp with a broken horn said I was a coward who was inept in battle. It's very difficult to earn anyone's respect with something like this branding you." She reaches up and touches the horn, wrapping her hand around it and obscuring the break from view.

"But the Bull is missing an eye and no one seems to fault him for it. In fact they seem to respect him all the more." 

"Did he ever tell you how he lost it?" Adaar asks. Solas shakes his head. "Saving Krem's life. Not many Qunari would do something like that for a human. The Bull isn't exactly your typical Qunari." She looks at Solas sideways, his fingers still in her hair. "Besides, none of the Chargers are Qunari. And to hear the Bull tell it neither am I." 

Solas scoffs, shaking out another braid, the hair curling around his fingers. 

"He's right you know," she says softly, running her hands back and forth over the surface of the water, watching it ripple. "I'm Tal'Vashoth. My parents raised me outside of the Qun and to be a Tal'Vashoth _and_ missing a horn? It doesn't speak well of my abilities, especially as a fighter.  _  
_

"As a culture the Qunari may as well be Dalish for all I know about them." She dunks her head beneath the water, washing the soap from her horns and her hair. Solas makes a surprised squack of indignation when her hair is torn from his grasp. He tsk's his disapproval, picking the wet braids free and muttering something in Elvish she doesn't understand, but is likely an insult.

 

He works in silence a moment, Adaar finger-combing the wet hair he's freed, setting the leather ties aside. At least she isn't wearing any pins. 

"Where did you grow up?" he finally asks. "I assume a Qunari wouldn't exactly be conspicuous growing up in Thedas, especially if your family was on the run." Adaar smiles and Solas realizes it's the first time he's seen one in days, even if it is small. He'll have to endeavor to pull a smile from her more often. 

"It was a small village to the north of the Black Iron river. Kind of out of the way and abandoned. There were few visitors, let alone Qunari so as you can imagine we stood out. Most of these people had never even seen a Qunari before. Few of them knew what to make of us.

"As my father told it I was just a babe, only a few days old when he and my mother were passing by. A group of children were playing on a crumbling bridge, collapsed years ago. The river swollen with ice melt from the mountains, water slapping against what was left of the supports on either bank." 

She pauses as Solas rubs at her scalp, the skin tingling pleasantly now that the braids are mostly loose. Adaar hummus a little before pickin the threads of the story back up. 

"A little girl, braver than the rest, or more reckless, was right on the edge where the bridge began to crest into the highest point before it collapsed. The stones were old and crumbling, eaten away to travel but the moss and she slipped. My father dove into the river after her, heedless of the debris. Entire trees had been uprooted, drug down into the rushing water, but none of it mattered to him.

Adaar turns and smiles at Solas, the expression proud and more present than before. "He saved her life. Caught a branch to the head in the process," she went on, touching her forehead with a finger, presumably where her father had been hurt. "It left a small scar," she remembered fondly.

"Several people came running as my father crawled out of the river. He was slicked with mud and soaking wet, this little girl tucked safely under his arm. He deposited her, shaking and crying, into the arms of her mother wihout a word, inclined his head and walked away." Adaar actuall laughs. "When they asked him what had happened he told them to ask the girl. Her father was so angry. 'I've told you a hundred times to stay away from that bridge,'" Adaar scowls, her voice dropping into a lower register. She wags her finger at an invisible child. 

"When they asked how they could ever repay him for saving their daughter's life he simply asked they repair the bridge. Or tear it down before someone else could get hurt. The man looked sheepish, saying their stonemason had died before he'd had a chance to fix it and his apprentice was only a boy. It had just continued to crumble over the years. They'd been making do with a rickety wooden bridge a little farther on. My father offered to help them build a new one. He never really intended to stay, but once the bridge was fixed they kept finding things for him to repair: the old school, a few houses that were worse off, the smithy.

"Eventually my mother went to work in the mine and that was that though my father kept threatening to leave. 'Once I get that roof in place I'm leaving and you can fix your own damn buildings,' he would say, but I was always in jest. He'd even taken on a few apprentices after a while.

"He built his own shop and made furniture. They taught him how to thatch a roof and my mother learned how to make mince meat pies and bake bread. Baking was completely novel to her but something she learned to love.

"Once you're given a place in the Qun there's no deviating from it, but she found she enjoyed baking as well as working in the mines with the men, so that's what she did. Stubborn woman," Adaar muses and she smiles again, lost in the memories before they turned bitter. She falls silent, caught in the ebb and flow of remembrance.

"That explains a lot of your mannerisms," Solas said, "but not your lack of modesty," he chided.

Adaar barks out a laugh. "So that's what this is. You want to pick me apart do you?" She laughs over any response he may have made, not the least bit offended. "Like I said, he village was in the middle of nowhere and small and hauling hot water is a chore. There was an old communal bath house built so the water would dam up and run through it, the stones heated from underneath until the water steamed and tumbled through the open doors in a white cloud as thick as fog." She shrugs lightly. "To put it simply I grew up with communal bathing. Being naked and seeing others just as nude has never bothered me. It was just a part of my life. I suspect this was once something similar." She gestures to the rubble scattered about the hot spring and Solas expects she's right.

"If you try to build a communal bath house in Skyhold I do believe Josephine will be scandalized."

That drew another thrilling laugh from Adaar. "Oh I would, just to see her face. She would be secretly delighted knowing her." 

"Humans are fairly odd where nudity is concerned though. I suppose I never thought about it before," he said, shaking out the last of her braids, scratching at her scalp. Adaar moans, rolling her shoulders in delight. 

"So that's where you went off to." Varric stood with his hands on his hips, smiling smugly.

Solas flushes, rising to his feet as if caught doing something terribly illicit. "Now don't go getting any ideas," he instructs. 

"Oh I've got plenty of those," the dwarf drawls, a wicked grin on his face.

"I was just-" 

"Washing he Inquisitor's hair?" he suggests in that tone that says it wasn't all he was doinat and Solas flushes at the suggestion. 

"Varric!" Adaar cries, waving him over, "come, join us." She smiles brightly. "We were just about to start an orgy in the bathhouse." Solas sputters and hurries away, cursing to himself. 

"I thought you wanted to talk to me," she shouts after him and Dolas decides trying to make her laugh more often isn't such a wise idea afterall, especially if it's at his own expense.


End file.
